“Just to update our viewers, we have changed our name from Asturian Global News to the National News Channel after Stateholder Andrea Lisbon received enough support to pass the Censorship Act in Parliament.

Some states have voiced their concern at this attempt to nationalise all major news reporting outlets, but supporters of Lisbon have said that the increased government funding will improve the quality.

Once the Act has been fully implemented, we’ll back with you with our daily schedule.

“...And any retailers caught adding sawdust to their bread, water to their milk, charcoal to their coffee, or in any other attempt at artificially bulking their products will be heavily fined and their manager detained indefinitely.

In addition, the General-Governor has issued the following short-term measures to deal with our shortage of manpower on the frontlines...”

Log 3: Popular poem amongst Asturians regarding Imperials- 553 S.F.

If it were only you and meI’d happily kill you here and now.If it were only you and meI’d pull this grenade pin and blow.Because if it were you and meI’d rather rot in hell.

Log 4: News Broadcast- March 1st 553 S.F.

“Reporter Justin Trough won’t be in today as he was killed during a food riot Naarva this morning. Our thoughts and prayers are with his family.

In recent news, Governor Tristan Pauwels has made his bid for Stateholder in the upcoming elections. He runs on a pro-independence platform that rejects foreign aid in the war against the Trastabarcid empire, going against incumbent Andrea Lisbon’s anti-alien and populist agenda.

We will cover more on this story later in an exclusive interview with Tristan’s aide and daughter Laureen Pauwels...”

Log 5: Identification of Trastabarcid military forces by Leftenant John McRandal of the Empress's Own 8th Mechanized Dragoons.

Trastabarcid Imperial forces are a very distinctive military force, with a unique style of military identification, that makes them both intimidating, and also easy to distinguish from one another in part by the traditions of the Empire’s entrenched nobility.

1. Imperial Hoplite Infantry. The Imperial Hoplites are a very striking force, easily identified by their signature armour, most well recognized by their helmets. Keep that in mind as the helmet of an Imperial Hoplite can tell you everything you need to know about them.

Enlisted soldiers wear plain helmets often painted in specific patterns by either their unit or personal decoration. Important to note that all decoration on enlisted men’s helmets are limited to using the helmet as a canvas, no extra adornments may be added without special permissions. Should you encounter a unit with something of that sort, caution is advised as only the most elite of forces would allow their rank and file to add such ornamentation.

NCO’s, are spotted by the long hawk feathers adorned to the sides of the helmet just above where the ear would be. The position of the NCO can be identified by the painted colours at the top of the feather. Extra note, some highest ranking and veteran sergeants may wear a horsehair crest.

Officers, are the most distinct and easy to identify by the horse hair crest worn on the top of the helmet. Rank can be distinguished by the colour of the crest. Red is the lowest and most common representing a Lieutenant and even some high ranking sergeants.(see previous section for details.) Next would be blue, representing the equivalent rank of Captain. Orange, representing the rank of Major. Green, representing Lieutenant Colonel. Golden Yellow representing Colonel, and finally Purple representing those the rank of General and their authority on behalf of the Trastabarcid Imperial family.

Log 6:From Leftenant John McRandall of the Queen’s Own 8th Mechanized Dragoons, to Major Cameron Siffitz Asturian Volunteers.

Subject: The proper maintenance of the infantryman’s rifle.

Dear Major Siffitz, I hate to intrude upon your clearly busy schedule, but I feel that this is an issue that you would find important enough for me to do so. While I have only recently arrived at my posting here as an advisor to your military forces, I have already observed more than enough instances of alarming behavior it astounds me that this is what your country calls its regular soldiers. To start, is the subject of this letter. The way your men treats their rifles is akin to how Commonwealth regulars treat their dirty undergarments. I must protest that if you wish to carry out a successful military effort, your men must keep their essential equipment in peak condition as things stand you do not have the resources to carelessly abuse it. I apologize if any of this comes off as an insult to you, it is not intended that way. With all do respect, I request that we meet in person to discuss this issue in further detail and come up with solutions.I hope this message finds you well.

-Leftenant John McRandall

Log 7:From Major Cameron Siffitz Asturian Volunteers, to Leftenant John McRandall of the Queen’s Own 8th Mechanized Dragoons.

Subject: A Response to ‘The proper maintenance of the infantryman’s rifle.’

Dear Leftenant McRandall, I shall take your suggestion under advisement, have a good day.

-Major Cameron Siffitz

Log 8:From Leftenant John McRandall of the Queen’s Own 8th Mechanized Dragoons, to Major Cameron Siffitz Asturian Volunteers.

Subject: Continuation of The proper maintenance of the infantryman’s rifle

Dear Major Siffitz, once again, with all due respect, I must stress the dire importance to reverse this poor behavior at once. Today alone, I observed a Private Corvinus, of First Company, using his rifle as a prop for his tent with the barrel sticking into the ground. This along with countless improper uses of the bayonet by almost all of your men alarm me deeply. I request that you rethink my proposition to sit down and talk about the sloppy treatment of equipment by your men.

-Leftenant John McRandall

Log 9:From Major Cameron Siffitz Asturian Volunteers, to Leftenant John McRandall of the Queen’s Own 8th Mechanized Dragoons.

Subject: A Response to Leftenant John McRandall

Dear Leftenant McRandall, thank you for your observations, I will take them into consideration at a later date. Have a good evening.

The first day of summer lived up to its promise of warmth and clear skies, with the sun's slow rise drifting towards its daily high. As the old faith's preached, its name was Pho and the lush fourth planet in its orbit was Asturias. Lush being a word of seasonal variation of course, as the five months of winter last year had buried much of its green landmass under a blanket of white.

The farmers would now repeat the cycle of labour passed down from their parents, grandparents, and ancestors before; to ensure that the seeds of spring would grow into the crops of summer, with little Erik taking part for the first time on his family's estate, giddy with pride.

Though being a boy of eight standard 365-day cycles, Erik had the energy (and wit) of half that. His first impulse was to drive the pesticide-spraying tractor into the pig pens, then when the senior farmhands had proper supervision of him, Erik was taught to make and set up several rabbits traps near the cabbage crops to the estate's East. Two days later Erik had caught his prey and proudly showed it off to staff members. But the new young maid of the pantry fainted at the sight of the dead animal and had to be given the week off.

Now tasked with making up for the shortfall in dirty washing, Erik sulked for the whole week. The sweets his auntie sent him in the mail brightened his day a bit, but still he was unsatisfied with his portfolio of achievements so far. When the week was over his mother recalled him and would try to wring an apology out of him. Erik would keep on sulking but like all other times this happened, he always cried in the end and hugged his mother.

"Shou" His father would shake his head in the background "You pamper that boy too much. Too many sweets, too much attention..."

Erik didn't understand why his father fussed over it. He always guessed his father was jealous, especially how he went on about him being 'Breast fed too late'. He could never tell though, because they rarely talked.

It was the second month of summer when Erik looked over orchard-dotted hills to the South from the reinforced barricades of the pig pen when his sister, Sofia, came back from her stay in boarding school.

"Sis! Sis!" Erik would run up to her smiling, then slipping over from the wet mud stuck on his feet. He felt like crying again but his older sister wasted little time in hugging him.

It was almost a double treat for Erik as the next day he watched his father board on a military transport ship bound for war.

'Looks like I get my family all to myself' Erik smiled.

The happiness was short lived when Sofia would spend more time with mother's chores rather than playtime with Erik. Seeing them manage the farmhands and mansion staff together would always remind Erik how similar the two looked, with their dark raven hair and high cheekbones. Sofia was at an age where she could imitate mother but enjoy Erik's presence indefinitely.

During one early morning, Erik would upset his mother again by eating a handmade birthday cake for the new young maid stored in the fridge. Rather than find out if she would have to take another week off, Erik fleed towards the Northern forests. The darkness that laid within them was terrifying, but it was there he heard the faint buzzing of insects.

His skin prickled when the noise hovered past his ear and high into the bushes of the nearest tree. There Erik saw a waxy hive the size of his head tucked into the armpit of a thick branch. He overheard one of the senior farmhands a few days ago, Terry he thinks, spitting over how annoying hornets have been lately and "Offering his left nut if someone were to get rid of them."

'I don't like nuts' Erik thought, but his giddy pride came back to him and immediately he set to climbing it. 'Terry can keep his nuts. I'll show the farmhands how useful I can be!'

Although he couldn't wrap his legs around the entire length of the trunk, his grip was strong enough to pull him up slowly. Erik snapped off a long twig on the way and quickly practiced his swinging.

"Erik!" The shriek came from behind but Erik could tell it was Sofia. "Get down from there, you could get hurt."

Fiercely Erik swung his stick at her, as if she could reach to where he was. "I'm gonna get rid of these hornets. Just you watch."

Those last words hung in his throat when he felt a sharp string on his other arm hanging onto the tree. He tried to see what was happening in front of him, but again he was stung and this time Erik let go. He made contact with the dirt and wasn't sure if his face was wet with tears or mud, but Sofia entered his vision and quickly wiped it away.

"Can you stand?" She asked with held breath

"Y-yeah." Erik managed without sobbing

The tears kept flowing from his eyes and he looked away to avoid crying in front of Sofia. But what she did next was why Erik always loved Sofia with all of his heart, she helped him to his feet and hugged Erik till his trembling voice settled down. No demands for apologies, no insults, no punishments or threats. Just a warm embrace.

"Come little brother." Sofia walked him away from the forest. "Let's get you washed up before mum finds out."

Private Androni of the Naarva State militia had gone ahead to scout, and it was he who brought back news to the small forward base of the Asturian Volunteers about the ominous gunshots they heard earlier. Mosquito base, they nicknamed it, since it was deemed a drain on supplies.

"Didn't see the two farmers who went out earlier." He said, climbing the stairs to the top of the fortified steel wall. "They might have fired the shots. They might have received the shots. All I can guess for sure is that they encountered something hostile."

"Hostile?" Corporal Kypsi spat over the edge of his open-windowed guard tower just half two meters higher than the wall. "Since when were hornets hostile? They're only gon' burn their nest, not put holes in it."

"Maybe you shouldn't have given them permission to leave."

"Maybe you should shut your hole before I shove my cock down it Militia boy." Kypsi leaned deeper into his chair and tipped his helmet over his eyes, shading his face from sunlight. "Sarge is busy. I'm the boss."

Androni let loose a pent up yet quiet sigh. “*censored*ing Regulars.” He set his rifle up against the balcony railing and stared back down into the forest. Him and several other guards kept their eyes on the supply road leading South. It was a thin, dusty lane which twisted around large rocks and fallen trees before being cut off from the increasing thickness of tree tops in the distance.

Even though the frontlines were to the North, the recent disappearances of a few messengers and now farmers was of worry to the majority militia contingent of the garrison at least of a few of which had family members missing. Provincial HQ, which Androni joked as quasi-professional since they were made up of more politicians and land owners rather than experienced officers, played it down to desertion. Even Mosquito base's officers and the Regulars shrugged callously at the concerns of some of the guards.

The thought of Imperials being behind the frontlines was the bogeyman to the militia. Especially this far into the Rebel offensive. They had a dozen rifles on each wall and four 30mm autocannons for the two entrances into the base, nothing to sneer at but a determined attacker can easily overcome this, Androni thought.

Sergeant Ruth joined the South wall and kicked the chair out from underneath a sleeping Kypsi. She was taller than most of the garrison, Androni included, but she rarely exploited her intimidating physique and even rarer raised her voice. Her uniform and extra stripes of battle honours which covered her sleeves were more than enough to command respect.

Corporal Kyspi looked like a squirrel that bit into a lemon "Why me? Let one of the squirts do it."

Ruth rolled her eyes "Androni, get some exercise and fetch us our rations."

'I just came back from scouting' Androni thought. He wanted to argue but he knew it would only bring him more trouble. He swung his rifle over his shoulder, stretched out his sore legs and marched down the stairs. Kypsi called out to him in jest "Send my love to that Asian hottie, Ortrun!"

Mosquito base wasn't the largest but it's position as the anchor on the right flank of the frontline meant there was plenty of activity going on. HQ had a steady inflow of messengers, peaking at certain times when digital communication was deemed too vulnerable to hacking. The armoury had doubled as a prison with the most recent skirmishes from a week ago, it's underground storage turned into makeshift cells. Right in the centre of everything was the mess-hall, a cheerless two-storey building flanked by several large garbage compactors that doubled as convenient toilets when out-of-date food found its way into the supplies.

Nearing the mess-hall, Androni was met with the nostalgic aroma of baked crusty bread. Upon actually entering through the sliding doors, he could start making guesses at what the other smells were; beefy broth with a hint of chestnut, mashed root vegetables that were swimming in butter, and even bread crumbed chicken deep-fried twice in duck fat.

Of course none of this was his. Upon entering the kitchen he could see what rations were meant for the officer's staff and what was meant for the grunts. All the pleasure he had smelt before was being carefully tended to on large platters near racks of spice and seasonings. Opposite that was a large cauldron that lacked any sharp smell and its contents looked like something from a biology lesson.

"Oi. Androni, you got my credits?"

Quartermaster Yorene glared at the man, her face didn't move except from the glow on her cigarette. Unlike most quartermasters, she was as thin as a pencil and just as sharp. It made Androni miss the cooking of Mrs Tanitha who had served as quartermaster before the regulars had shown up. Kypsi gave her the nickname saggy-tits but Androni didn't dare make that observation.

"Soon. Soon." He waved. "You got any early rations on the go?"

"Sure. Sure." She picked up a nearby bowl of whatever was in that cauldron, dunked her cigarette in it and handed it over.

"You're grim Yorene. You know that?" Androni dropped the bowl

She gave a cruel chuckle, flashing her brown stained teeth, and then resumed her glare. "Pick that up."

"Yorene, don't be so rude." A voice perked up from behind the cauldron.

Making a somewhat humble entrance to the scene was Sofia Ortrun. Her name was tossed around often in the fantasies of the unmarried men, as well as a few women, of the militia. And while their wives would never hear of it, the same could be said for the married volunteers too. Androni himself couldn't help but get a warm feeling when he looked upon her face. It was clean and healthy like most people who belonged to the land-owning class.

Although Androni's true weakness was her hips, which wasn't helped that the young woman could make a rather conservatively modest dress look good. Think about baseball. Think about baseball. He thanked the old faith that she was busy arguing with Yorene.

"Ain't my fault all these damned provincials suck at poker in this dump. If they're gonna play, they ought to actually have enough money with them." Yorene hissed

"I get the impression you cheat sometimes..."

"Is that what Erik told you? He's probably pissed that he betted all his clothes in our last game and I saw that tiny pecker of his. Poor form for a nineteen year old." Yorene stuck her pinky finger up in Sofia’s face.

Androni edged nearer to the ration bowls near the cauldron. Yorene snapped another glare at the man in response.

"You wanna die, son?" She asked

"Trade you for my weekly ration of tobacco." Androni replied

"Keep talking."

Sofia watched the two with half amusement and half confusion. She was new to the campaign life, and had yet to fully grasp some of the finer points of the soldier’s life. What she had observed was a rather strict rivalry between those of the Asturian Army and the Provincial and State Militiamen. It brought back memories of when Androni himself volunteered a few months prior during the hungry winter season. He was known to many of the garrison as a friend and neighbor and they welcomed him with open arms and a Sarissa rifle. After a some more negotiation between the two, Androni had earned himself some crusty bread alongside three bowls of rations in trade for two weeks of tobacco. This didn't matter to him though, as he'd just eat half the bread and trade the other half to Kypsi for his deficit in cigarettes.

Taking a doggy bag, Androni was about to go on his way out but then caught Sofia's bewitching smile.

She giggled gently, which almost made Androni’s heart explode. Whether from hormones or embarrassment, he couldn't tell. Androni nodded shyly and continued his walk to the exit. He unexpectedly almost bumped into a young lad however. Erik Ortrun to be exact. He didn't share many of his sister's features, notably his cropped hair was more brown than black, skin nearing a tan rather than a pale white, and his eyes being like two dark holes that always had a defensive look to them. A wisp of facial hair circled his mouth and the sound of grinding teeth could be heard almost a metre away.

"Erik." Androni gave a polite smile.

The young man grunted and moved past him without second thought. Hanging from his hand by their ears were a couple of dead rabbits, recent if Androni would guess, with rough marks around their necks.

"Sis, I got some more meat for the cauldron." Erik said

"Oh? You've had a good string of luck hunting recently." Sofia hummed

"If I had a gun I could get more. I keep asking for one but..." Erik turned round to see Androni staring at him "What's your problem?"

Androni didn't realise how obvious he had been but couldn't help wince at this brat's attitude. He quickly made his way to the exit.

"Oh by the way kid." He called out. "Kypsi sends his love. I think he might be keeping his bedroom unlocked for you tonight."

The memory of Erik's whining lifted his spirits for the walk back to the South wall.

This is a minor revision of Chapter 2: Mosquito Base, nothing too major just basic stuff.

Spoiler

Private Androni of the Dourfolk State Militia had gone ahead on patrol, but the ominous echoes of gunshots in the distance had spooked the newly minted militiaman into reporting back what he’d heard. He approached his post and current home; Mosquito base, they nicknamed it, since it was deemed a drain on supplies.

"Corporal Kypsi, I haven’t seen the farmers that went out earlier… And I heard gunshots." He said, climbing the stairs to the top of the fortified steel wall. "They might have fired the shots. They might have received the shots. All I can guess for sure is that they encountered something hostile."

"Hostile?" Corporal Kypsi spat over the edge of his open-windowed guard tower just half two meters higher than the wall. "Since when were hornets hostile? They're only gon' burn their nest, not put holes in it."

"Maybe you shouldn't have given them permission to leave."

"Maybe you should shut your hole before I shove my cock down it Militia boy." Kypsi leaned deeper into his chair and tipped his helmet over his eyes, shading his face from sunlight. "Sarge is busy. I'm the boss."

Androni let loose a pent up yet quiet sigh. “Damned Regulars.” He set his rifle up against the balcony railing and stared back down into the forest. Him and several other guards kept their eyes on the supply road leading South. It was a thin, dusty lane which twisted around large rocks and fallen trees before being cut off from the increasing thickness of tree tops in the distance.

Even though the frontlines were to the North, the recent disappearances of a few messengers and now farmers was of worry to the majority militia contingent of the garrison at least of a few of which had family members missing. Provincial HQ, which Androni joked as quasi-professional since they were made up of more politicians and land owners rather than experienced officers, played it down to desertion. Even Mosquito base's officers and the Regulars shrugged callously at the concerns of some of the guards.

The thought of Imperials being behind the frontlines was the bogeyman to the militia. Especially with the rumours of a Rebel offensive in the works. They had a dozen rifles on each wall and four 30mm autocannons for the two entrances into the base, nothing to sneer at but a determined attacker can easily overcome this, Androni thought.

Sergeant Ruth joined the South wall and kicked the chair out from underneath a sleeping Kypsi. She was taller than most of the garrison, Androni included, but she rarely exploited her intimidating physique and even rarer raised her voice. Her uniform and extra stripes of battle honours which covered her sleeves were more than enough to command respect.

“What are you doing back early Private?” She asked.

“I came back to report gunshots.” He tapped his hand on his rifle butt, “should we be worried about what's going on Sarge?" Androni asked.

Corporal Kyspi looked like a squirrel that bit into a lemon "Why me? Let one of the squirts do it."

Ruth rolled her eyes "Hey kid, get some exercise and fetch us our rations."

'They seem awfully calm' Androni thought. He wanted to argue but he knew it would only bring him more trouble. He swung his rifle over his shoulder, stretched out his sore legs and marched down the stairs. Kypsi called out to him in jest "Send my love to that Asian hottie, Ortrun!"

Mosquito base wasn't the largest base behind the frontline, but its position as a converging point on the Rebels’ arteries of supplies and information meant there was plenty of activity going on. HQ had a steady inflow of messengers, peaking at certain times when digital communication was deemed too vulnerable to hacking. The armoury had doubled as a prison with the most recent skirmishes from a week ago, it's underground storage turned into makeshift cells. Right in the centre of everything was the mess-hall, a cheerless two-storey building flanked by several large garbage compactors that doubled as convenient toilets when out-of-date food found its way into the supplies.

Nearing the mess-hall, Androni was met with the nostalgic aroma of baked crusty bread steadying his nerves. Upon actually entering through the sliding doors, he could start making guesses at what the other smells were; beefy broth with a hint of chestnut, mashed root vegetables that were swimming in butter, and even bread crumbed chicken deep-fried twice in duck fat.

Of course none of this was his. Upon entering the kitchen he could see what rations were meant for the officer's staff and what was meant for the grunts. All the pleasure he had smelt before was being carefully tended to on large platters near racks of spice and seasonings. Opposite that was a large cauldron that lacked any sharp smell and its contents looked like something from a biology lesson.

"Oi. Androni, you got my credits?"

Quartermaster Yorene glared at the man, her face didn't move except from the glow on her cigarette. Unlike most quartermasters, she was as thin as a pencil and just as sharp. It made Androni miss the cooking of Mrs Tanitha who had served as quartermaster before the regulars had shown up. Kypsi gave her the nickname saggy-tits but Androni didn't dare make that observation.

"Soon. Soon." He waved. "You got any early rations on the go?"

"Sure. Sure." She picked up a nearby bowl of whatever was in that cauldron, dunked her cigarette in it and handed it over.

"You're grim Yorene. You know that?" Androni dropped the bowl

She gave a cruel chuckle, flashing her brown stained teeth, and then resumed her glare. "Pick that up."

"Yorene, don't be so rude." A voice perked up from behind the cauldron.

Making a somewhat humble entrance to the scene was Sofia Ortrun. Her name was tossed around often in the fantasies of the unmarried men, as well as a few women, of the militia. And while their wives would never hear of it, the same could be said for the married volunteers too. Androni himself couldn't help but get a warm feeling when he looked upon her face. It was clean and healthy like most people who belonged to the land-owning class.

Although Androni's true weakness was her hips, which wasn't helped that the young woman could make a rather conservatively modest dress look good. Think about baseball. Think about baseball. He thanked the old faith that she was busy arguing with Yorene.

"Ain't my fault all these damned provincials suck at poker in this dump. If they're gonna play, they ought to actually have enough money with them." Yorene hissed

"I get the impression you cheat sometimes..."

"Is that what Erik told you? He's probably pissed that he betted all his clothes in our last game and I saw that tiny pecker of his. Poor form for a nineteen year old." Yorene stuck her pinky finger up in Sofia’s face.

Androni edged nearer to the ration bowls near the cauldron. Yorene snapped another glare at the man in response.

"You wanna die, son?" She asked

"Trade you for my weekly ration of tobacco." Androni replied

"Keep talking."

Sofia watched the two with half amusement and half confusion. She was new to the campaign life, and had yet to fully grasp some of the finer points of the soldier’s life. What she had observed was a rather strict rivalry between those of the Asturian Army and the Provincial and State Militiamen. It brought back memories of when Androni himself volunteered a few months prior during the hungry winter season. He was known to many of the garrison as a friend and neighbor and they welcomed him with open arms and a Sarissa rifle. After some more negotiation between the two, Androni had earned himself some crusty bread alongside three bowls of rations in trade for two weeks of tobacco. This didn't matter to him though, as he'd just eat half the bread and trade the other half to Kypsi for his deficit in cigarettes.

Taking a doggy bag, Androni was about to go on his way out but then caught Sofia's bewitching smile.

She giggled gently, which almost made Androni’s heart explode. Whether from hormones or embarrassment, he couldn't tell. Androni nodded shyly and continued his walk to the exit. He unexpectedly almost bumped into a young lad however. Erik Ortrun to be exact. He didn't share many of his sister's features, notably his cropped hair was more brown than black, skin nearing a tan rather than a pale white, and his eyes being like two dark holes that always had a defensive look to them. A wisp of facial hair circled his mouth and the sound of grinding teeth could be heard almost a metre away.

"Erik." Androni gave a polite smile.

The young man grunted and moved past him without second thought. Hanging from his hand by their ears were a couple of dead rabbits, recent if Androni would guess, with rough marks around their necks.

"Sis, I got some more meat for the cauldron." Erik said

"Oh? You've had a good string of luck hunting recently." Sofia hummed

"If I had a gun I could get more. I keep asking for one but..." Erik turned round to see Androni staring at him "What's your problem?"

Androni didn't realise how obvious he had been but couldn't help wince at this brat's attitude. He quickly made his way to the exit.

"Oh by the way kid." He called out. "Kypsi sends his love. I think he might be keeping his bedroom unlocked for you tonight."

The memory of Erik's whining lifted his spirits for the walk back to the South wall.

“...aside from it’s young colonies and offshore naval bases, Asturia is made up of 17 states split into distinct social-geographical areas which inhabit the main continent. Several of the key areas include;The Strip on the southern coast, Heartlands on the east coast, Manifest in the centre near the Great Woods, and Highlands up north.

Each state has a separate council being headed by a General or Lord-Governor depending on the succession laws being used. The main role of the Governor is to regulate a small professional military core with a larger militia to defend the rights of its citizens, dispense justice in accordance with the law, and deal with threats as they emerge.

Above all this is the parliament which consists of the 17 governors who elect their national representative; the Stateholder. The Stateholder is mostly a chairman, they have the power to present discussions and debates but is ultimately limited by the support of the Governors (which also translates to their financial aid). This does allow the Stateholder to decide the topic of bills which can be passed in parliament, but ignoring the whims of the most powerful governors can easily lead to a new election. The parliament is also the HQ for the Asturian military. Parliament has its own politically neutral territory; the entire island of Harrington.”

Log 11:Lawyer Desmond vs. The Old Laws: Article 2

“It’s an outdated and preposterous notion that the growing of wheat is reserved only for the estates of the Lords. Not only do they have a monopoly on the supply and prices of it, but such a common grain should really be available to all Asturians to grow. However, as I have presented with my legal evidence, it is clear that this law restricts wheat to a status symbol whilst lower farmers must grow the less popular oats, rice, rye, barely and etc.”

Lawyer Johan Desmond

Log 12:The Battle of Paytonpen: 21, September, 551 S.F

Among the first engagements between Asturian and Imperial Forces, the battle of Paytonpen was a resounding victory for the Asturian Rebellion.

After the first shots of the Asturian Rebellion were fired in June of 551 S.F the Emperor of the Trastabarcids made it very clear that he wanted this little colonial tantrum dealt with quickly and with as little blood shed as possible. He placed the local sector commander Hannibal Ferrus in charge of the operation. General Ferrus, was an old commander who had seen much action in the frontlines of the war against the Commonwealth, as well as the brutal skirmishes between colonists who were loyal to the Trastabarcids and the Commonwealth on Asutrias. But he had not commanded a frontline operation in two decades. With only 5,000 men under his command Ferrus had to act fast and crush the Asturian Army in a decisive battle before support for the rebellion could snowball out of control. His plan entailed heavy use of air cavalry tactics to surround and destroy the Asturian Rebels. It would take time to train most of his units for the planned offensive, but with the help of the skilled troopers of the sixty third Air Cavalry regiment he was able to have the vast majority of his forces ready by august. A month later, the operation went forward in earnest. Following intelligence that the Asturian army was encamped at the small town of Paytonpen General Ferrus launched a massive surrounding action with more than 150 transport aircraft each carrying between 15 and 50 Imperial troopers. To the surprise of the Imperials they received no resistance upon landing. Within minutes after the transports left the zone however, the packed LZ’s were lit up by fire on all sides and began receiving highly accurate artillery fire. Among those killed in the opening bombardment, was General Ferrus and most of his command staff. The panicked Imperial forces clogged up their radio channels and called in air support and medivacs en masse, and as the sky was quickly clogged up with aircraft. It was then that the true massacre began as anti aircraft missiles shot into the sky blowing medivac helicopters filled to overcapacity with wounded Imperial troops to pieces. As other helicopters attempted to take evasive maneuvers it caused accidental collisions causing more aircraft to fall out of the sky down on top of their friendly forces. The ‘battle’ was over in an hour. The few survivors who escaped the slaughter told horror stories of an experience akin to a journey into hell. To quote one account, “We never saw any of the Rebel troops. We only ever saw the muzzle flashes and targeting lasers of their loneswords. It was like we were shooting at ghosts and shadows.” The battle of Paytonpen has been hailed as a stroke of military genius by the commanding officer of the rebel side of the operation one Brigadier General Jamie Howe. However the general has on multiple occasions called it ‘a near perfect operation smeared by the actions of a few overzealous war criminals’, speaking on the subject of rebel anti aircraft launcher operators who fired upon imperial medivacs. These comments have for the most part been drowned out on the rebel side in favour of a tale of a heroic victory against overwhelming odds. However such comments have never been forgotten by Imperial forces who respect General Howe and his family as honourable adversaries.